Sherlock: Mycroft wet the bed!
by Autumn Reid
Summary: Mycroft is sick and Sherlock is told not to disturb him. What's our little Sherlock going to do? i don't own Sherlock.


Rating: T

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/ Mycroft Holmes

**Mycroft wet the bed!**

* * *

"Mummy, where's Mycwoft?" Mrs. Holmes looked down at her son clutching her floral apron. She smiled pinching his cheek before he pulled away to rub it.

"Mycroft is sick sweetheart. He needs his rest. Please don't disturb him until he gets better, okay?" she said. Sherlock pouted but nodded before his mother, with a smile, returned to the dishes.

Sherlock walked down the hallway of the second floor grumbling to himself. Stupid Mycroft always had to get sick when Sherlock needed him for something. He sighed feeling defeated as he made his way down the hall.

_Snore!_

Sherlock jumped at the sound. Mycroft's snores echoed through the green painted halls as Sherlock tiptoed to his bedroom door. He looked in before looking both way for anyone nearby and entering the room closing the door gently behind him.

-(Line Breaker!)-

Mycroft grumbled as he laid in bed. He could see light from behind his eyelids and as much as he didn't want to he turned from the curtained window waking himself up. He rubbed his nose as a poking feeling came over it and the feeling went away. He relaxed again trying to drift back off to sleep.

_Poke poke_!

He grumbled opening an eye to see Sherlock staring at him rubbing something in his nostril. He sprang up Sherlock nearly toppling off the bed if it hadn't been for John behind him. Mycroft looked at the two boys before pulling a Popsicle stick and thermometer from his mouth. "Why?!" was all he could say.

Sherlock snatched them both reading the thermometer and setting the Popsicle stick by the cotton swab that had been in Mycroft's nose. "I'm collecting data on the saliva to snot accumulation inside you." He waved the thermometer a bit "also, you're fever is 101, in case you wanted to know." Mycroft looked from John to Sherlock.

"Alright then, but why is John here?" Sherlock looked over to John as if it was the first time he'd seen him today.

"Oh, I needed to borrow his father's medical books to find the reason why you're sick. He decided to help me." John waved shyly and Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose.

"That's all very nice Sherlock but I need sleep. It's just a cold. **A common cold**. I'll be better in a few days." Sherlock turned a page roughly as he shifted the Popsicle saliva and snot onto separate slides to be observed.

"But Mycwoft! You have to get better now. I need to check on my bees in their new hive and mum won't let me do it alone." he said. Mycroft sighed looking around the room a bit before his eyes rested on a small blue bucket.

"What's the bucket for?" Sherlock adjusted the lens to his microscope and looking inside.

"Oh that? I heard that supposedly while a person is sleeping if you put their hand in warm water they will pee in bed. I decide to test the theory on you since Jawn wouldn't let me on him." Mycroft blinked for a second as a small smile covered Sherlock's face. "The water were very effective." Mycroft blushed slightly as he glared at Sherlock's back. John flinched as the gaze turned to him.

"I tried to stop him. You peed before I could get the water away." He said and Mycroft deflated still angry.

"Get Out."

"Wait, wait, wait." Sherlock looked at the book again before inspecting the microscope. "This book says you're dying. We should call an ambulance." Mycroft threw a pillow at him.

"I said GET OUT!" they ran out Sherlock grabbing his microscope.

"I'll send flowers to the funeral!" he called slamming the door behind him and Mycroft sighed slipping out of bed to take a shower.

-(Line Breaker!)-

Mycroft sighed slumping back into bed. He'd flipped the mattress over and changed the sheets and now all he wanted was to dream this all away. He laid on his belly as the door opened slowly. Turning, a nervous looking John came into view as he crept into the room.

"I need to get the book. My dad might need it for work." Mycroft glared silently at the boy the entire time he walked until he stopped by the door. "I'll keep Sherlock out. I'm sorry for what we did" Mycroft nodded laying his head back down. "Hey Mycroft." He looked up again and John smiled. "You wet the bed." Mycroft threw another pillow as a giggling John ran from the room. He groaned closing his eyes and tossing the blanket over his head. His mother would hear about this when he was well.


End file.
